Sunday in the Park    With Neal
by 2Old4This2
Summary: Takes place after Checkmate, and before we know anything else. Just a little piece of fluff about trust, healing, and a little bit of romance.


**Sunday Afternoon in the Park . . . With Neal**

A _White Collar_ Fan Fiction

_Disclaimer: _White Collar_ belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA Network. No copyright infringement is intended and there is no profit being made from this._

"Hey, Peter." Neal Caffrey dropped into the chair across the desk from Agent Burke and made himself comfortable, obviously intending to spend some time there.

"Neal," Peter responded. "Did you finish up the report on the McCune copyright case?"

"Yup, got it right here." He tossed the file into Peter's inbox with a flip of his wrist. "Anything else I can do for you?" he asked agreeably.

Peter looked up from his own work, his eyes narrowed slightly as he regarded the younger man. "Are you hoping to leave work early today?" It was Friday afternoon – it wasn't an unreasonable request. Peter bit back the urge to say no, just on principle. He reached for the file Neal had placed in his inbox and gave it a quick look. Everything seemed in order.

"If you're finished with everything you can head home. Have a good weekend." Peter went back to his desktop monitor; Neal didn't move.

"Is there something else you need, Caffrey?" Peter asked, a bit testily. Neal hadn't asked for many favors since his involvement with Nazi art cache had become common knowledge. That deception and its subsequent fallout had left the relationship between agent and consultant on shaky ground. And that was on a good day. Whatever this was ought to be good, Peter thought.

"Neal?" he prompted.

"The Whitney Biennial Exhibition opens this weekend. It sounds amazing." Neal spoke quickly, hoping to get it all in before Peter told him no.

"And it's outside your radius."

"It's right on the edge. I'm not sure if it's completely outside or not." Neal actually looked uncomfortable.

"Neal, I don't want to go to an art museum with you this weekend," Peter explained wearily. "I want to spend the weekend with my wife." Peter looked him straight in the eye, without the least bit of sympathy. "I'm sure you can understand that."

Neal looked down and away, guilt filling his features. The danger he had unwittingly placed Elizabeth Burke in was an obstacle in the way of his relationship with Peter he wasn't sure he would ever surmount.

"Go home, Caffrey," Peter suggested again. He turned back to his computer.

"I want to go to the Whitney with Sara," Neal explained on a long exhalation.

Peter stopped his work mid-thought and looked up. Sara. He hadn't seen that one coming. He knew that Neal and Sara had been together twice since their break up, but as far as Peter knew it hadn't been much more than a couple of one-night stands. This sounded different. This sounded more date-like. Was Neal hoping to rebuild the relationship?

"Have you asked her if she wants to go?"

"No. I thought it might be nice if I knew I could go before I asked her to come with me," Neal answered with a minimum of sarcasm.

Peter ignored the sarcasm, under the circumstances it wasn't unjustified. He took a moment to think over the ramifications of the situation. Neal outside his radius – with Sara. Neal trying to reestablish a real relationship – with Sara. Neal wanting to experience something he loved, art – with Sara. Peter had told Neal once that he deserved some happiness. He meant it when he said it. Apparently he still meant it.

"Go ahead and ask her. If she says yes, we'll work something out."

Neal jumped up, a broad grin replacing the earlier uncertainty. "Peter, you won't regret this," he said as he left the office.

"I better not."

ooOoo

Sara met Neal outside the Whitney Museum. He had offered to pick her up at her apartment, but she said no. After he had so skillfully lied to her about so many things, she wasn't quite ready to give him access to the intimate environs of her home. Not yet.

She had to admit her heart beat just a little bit faster when she saw him standing on the museum steps, waiting for her with a nervous smile. The cool spring breeze lifted the dark wavy hair from his head and tugged at his suit jacket, highlighting his slim, well-shaped form. He certainly was nice to look at, she thought to herself as he escorted her inside.

When the left the museum three hours later, Sara's head was reeling. She had never experienced anything quite like this afternoon. She was no stranger to art and art museums, not in her line of work, but she tended to view artworks by their value. Today she had experienced art. Neal moved from one exhibit to another with the enthusiasm of a child and the understanding of a master. Sometimes she agreed with his views, other times she was completely opposed, but the entire afternoon had been very much like touching a live wire. Sara believed she would never look at a painting or a piece of sculpture the same way again.

"Do you want to get something to eat?" Neal asked. They were standing together in front of the museum, and suddenly all the awkwardness and mistrust seemed to return.

"Neal, I'm sorry, but . . ." Sara didn't finish the thought. "This has been great," she continued, indicating the museum with a wave of her hand, "but I don't know if I'm ready for anything else. Yet," she finished awkwardly.

"In other words, I haven't earned the right to dinner yet," Neal summed up with a trace of bitterness.

"Neal . . ."

"It's okay, Sara, I understand." He really wasn't sure he understood, but what else could he say.

"I'm sorry," Sara said, rather bleakly.

The couple just stood there on the sidewalk, looking at each other, neither of them willing to be the first to leave.

"Sara," Neal said suddenly. "Are you willing to walk in the park with me?"

"What?" she asked dumbly.

"Walk in the park. You know, look at the flowers, feed the ducks, grab a slice."

Sara just stared at him. A walk in the park was the last suggestion she expected to hear from Neal Caffrey.

"Look, it's a public place. There are lots of people; I couldn't possibly do anything . . ."

"Fine," she interrupted. "Let's go. Just shut up."

So they walked, not arm in arm, not holding hands – but they were together, more together then they had been in a long time. They looked at first spring flowers making an appearance, they ate pizza slices folded in that unique way only New Yorkers have perfected. And something warm and comfortable flowed between them.

"Are you getting cold?" Neal asked. He and Sara were sitting on a bench by the lake, feeding the last of a pretzel to the three persistent ducks they had unoriginally named Huey, Dewey, and Louie. The sun was low in the western sky now, casting everything with a rosy gold glow.

Sara threw a scrap of pretzel and watched as the three ducks quacked and pecked at it. "It is getting a little chilly," she conceded.

"I guess maybe you should head home."

Sara watched as Neal looked at her. The sun setting behind him lit his hair, effectively giving him a halo. How incongruous is that, she thought wildly. But something inside her had shifted, she realized, or opened just a little.

"Do you want to come back to the apartment with me?" Sara asked quickly, before she had time to stop herself.

"Sara, you don't have to . . ." Neal stumbled, "I don't expect . . ."

"Hey, don't get ahead of yourself there, Caffrey," she warned. Sara continued with a shy smile. "You haven't seen the apartment since the renovations are done. And I make a mean cup of coffee."

"Thanks," Neal smiled back at her, warm and genuine. "That would be great."

They threw the last of the pretzel to the ducks and started towards west 63rd and a great cup of coffee.


End file.
